


Rancid Within

by aslaug



Category: Divinity: Original Sin (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Violence, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:42:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27183310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aslaug/pseuds/aslaug
Summary: The sin of Source is inborn; we are all of us marked by this strange power, both creative and destructive. It is no wonder some are seduced to manipulate it.Still there is a stark difference between that which is understandable and that which is permissible.The sin of Source has no place within our realm; time and again it has gone rancid within its hosts, been used to torture and kill, called beasts of unspeakable horror into our midst.It cannot continue.
Relationships: Ifan ben-Mezd/Fane, Ifan ben-Mezd/Godwoken, Ifan ben-Mezd/Male Elf Godwoken, Ifan ben-Mezd/Male Godwoken
Kudos: 5





	1. Troubled Waters

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea for quite some time to explore the events of DOS2 pretty much step by step but through the eyes of a companion. While Ifan will be the protagonist of this story, he is not The Guy, if you know what I mean. There will be a few significant changes to the plot but I also couldn't help using some of the direct quotes. I'm sorry, they're just too good.
> 
> I have the whole story planned out so I hope you'll like it as it pans out!

“Oh rise and shine already, won’t you. Got another one waiting.”

A hand landed on Ifan's shoulder, giving it a rough shake. Reflexively, Ifan tried to roll on his side, but something kept him firmly in place. Ifan opened his eyes and saw a pretty face of a woman staring down at him expectantly. The memories of being captured started coming down on him like cold droplets of rain - slowly, at first, gradually intensifying. Fighting through the haziness clouding his mind, Ifan recalled the stuffed musky air of the underground tavern. He'd been as high as a kite when the tiger showed up… And then Ifan summoned Afrit… 

The tiger in the tavern, damn it all. 

Ifan closed his eyes and let out a sharp sigh through clenched teeth. The Magisters had seized him right on the spot, still on drudanae and barely able to stand straight. They dragged him to the barracks, took away the backpack with all of his belongings, and threw him behind the bars. Ifan quit counting the nights he spent there. The first few days nobody bothered to bring him food or explain what would come next for him. Except for one guard, Ifan was completely alone, shackled, hungry and clueless as to what would happen next. At some point he had a visitor. She was a petite woman, clad in Magister robes. She ordered Ifan to strip out of his fine leather armour in an obviously rehearsed manner, her voice unnaturally loud and her hands fidgeting. To that Ifan tilted his head bemusedly and raised his shackled hands. 

After that they would occasionally bring him a bowl of cold potatoes. 

The thought of attempting an escape was constantly on his mind; now that he didn’t have any weapon, Ifan wished he had spent at least some time studying basic spells. Technically, he could still try and summon Afrit on the other side of the bars, get him to take care of the guard and snatch the keys. The Magister was armed and heavily armoured, so without Ifan’s backup, there was a risk of Afrit taking a blow before he’d manage to bite through the Magister’s armour. Ifan didn’t need to see his soul wolf gutted in front of him, and that left him with no choice other than wait and see what would happen next.

What felt like maddeningly-long days later, a bulky rock of a Magister appeared, covered in red robes from feet to face. Without as much as a glance at Ifan, he led him outside, where they were joined by another cloaked Red. The caravan of two men delivered Ifan to a port, and that was when Ifan found himself among the others, chained like him; about nearly half a dozen prisoners, some of them looked pissed, some were weeping, while the others were stoically moving in one sloppy line of shackles, confusion and hatred. The last thing Ifan could remember were the metal bars and ice cold ground under his bare feet, calloused and aching from all the walking.

And then he’d woken up collared.

"Where am I?" Ifan asked the Magister.

"Why, on the ship of course! We have been for a few days now. But I understand, everything must seem so confusing to you right now," the Magister said.

“Not exactly the kind of service I would expect from a lovely little voyage,” Ifan managed a retort, testing the strength of the straps pinning down his wrists and ankles.

“Oh, don’t you fret, the best thing is yet to come.”

The Magister took an appraising look at his trapped body, splayed on a hardwood table, and Ifan let himself be entertained by the thought that there were worse places he had woken up in.

“As heart-warming as it is to see a little naughty Sourcerer such as yourself so disabled _ , _ ’’ the Magister began speaking. Through half-closed eyes, Ifan observed her taking a few steps aside. She pulled a lever and continued, “I’m quite done with you for now.”

The metal straps lifted and the table slowly started positioning itself vertically, coaxing Ifan to stand on his unsteady feet. The Magister tilted her head to the side, looking overly satisfied with herself.

“My my, welcome to the Merryweather. I’ll give you a minute to get your bearings. Come find me at the door once you’re done,” the woman turned away from him, ready to leave, but hesitated for a moment and said, “oh and I kindly urge you not to touch anything. Don’t linger,” she climbed up the sturdy-looking ladder leading to the upper deck.

Ifan rolled his neck, rubbed out the knots in his shoulders; his whole body was unpleasantly stiff. Out of all those days he had been on the ship, how much time did he spend strapped to that table? His vision still foggy  — there was no way the Magister harpy hadn’t pumped him full with sedative  — Ifan took a look around, finding himself in a somewhat bare corner of the ship with three more tables, other than his, some large machinery with fat menacing pipes coming out of it, and a couple of poison barrels suspiciously connected to it. On top of the panel, that seemingly controlled the machinery, was a skull. Ifan shook his head: merry place indeed. He could explore more later if need be, but the smothering tightness around his neck urged him to get answers first. Ifan followed the Magister up the ladder, throwing a cautious look at the couple of vacant cages to his left.

The hatch led to a secluded laboratory. The place was a mess. Among numerous bookshelves, there was a desk loaded with open books, some empty flasks and burning candles dangerously close to the piles of papers messily scattered around. Two short staircases, opposite of each other, were leading up to the door where the magister was flipping through a book that was placed on a single easel with some sort of ridiculous reverence. Ifan’s sharp eyes inevitably landed on a shiny golden goblet, sitting on the table in the left corner of the room. Pretty little thing, probably would cost him a good coin. Oh well, old habits die hard. He started towards the door, when the Magister looked up from the book.

“There! How do you like your new accessory?” she fixed Ifan’s neck with the same content look in her eyes. Ifan offered her a puzzled face. She made sure to helpfully explain herself, “Oh, not to worry: every dog has to get used to its leash.” 

Ifan pressed the tips of his fingers to the collar, but before he managed to articulate his question, she continued, “Why don’t you go ahead and give it a tug?”

Ifan tried to pry the collar off his neck. It was tight, almost burning hot against his skin. Ifan inhaled sharply and felt a quiet lonely howl inside of him rising, but only to be stifled and crushed against the cold magic-proof wall of his soul. And then… nothing. Afrit went silent, so silent he might as well have been nonexistent.

“Marvelous little thing, isn’t it?” the Magister said mirthfully. Ifan felt the strong urge to slap her on the face. There was nothing pretty about it anymore. Instead it turned into a sneering mug that could only belong to an evil person.

“What in the Void did you do to me? Why?” Ifan asked her, pissed by another inconvenience he'd have to deal with. He and Afrit had been separated and that complicated things immensely.

“For the world’s peace of mind! How come none of you understand? Have to repeat myself every time. Suppose it’s part of my job now, they might as well start paying me more for consulting,” the Magister said and continued speaking in a fast and automatic, almost scripted way, “You may call it a Source collar. It neuters you. Blocks your ability to use Source. In your case, shrinks a big bad wolf to the size of a harmless puppy,” she snickered amusedly and shook her head. “I heard your story, you know. A Sourceror  _ and _ an addict. What a fitting way to get caught. Don’t you think?”

“Will you personally take me out for a walk once or twice a day, keep me fed and groomed? I must warn you though, I lick a lot if I’m taken care of nicely.”

The words weren’t playful but bitter. The Magister guffawed unattractively and crossed her arms on her chest. 

“Funny one, eh? Don’t get brought here often, clowns like you. Well, where we’re heading you’ll be taken care of alright. And if you’re an especially good boy, they might even cure you. Must be so excited, are you not? In the meantime, go find Magister William. All passengers have to be registered in the ship’s manifest, and he’s the chap in charge of the logs. The other side of this deck. The officers’ quarters. Tell him Magister Siwan sent you. Now away with you, got more work on my hands.”

She turned away from him and disappeared down the hatch. 

Ifan left the laboratory, his legs still wobbly, and slammed the door behind him only to face two more Magisters who seemed to be guarding an open door on the right side. The noise alerted the Magisters; the two pairs of eyes jolted right up. Ifan lowered his face, not willing to be recognized, and continued forward. A distinctive stench of death was coming from the open door, but at that moment Ifan couldn’t care less about Magisters’ incompetence of doing their job. Feeling the tense looks from the Magisters on his back, Ifan went through the next door and immediately got washed over with a wave of chattering filling the room to the brim. Around him were the others, dressed in prison rags, barefeet and just as collared. Some of the faces he’d never seen before, but some of them he recognized from the boarding. Gods, there were children.

Ifan took a step forward, heading in the direction of the table where two especially loud dwarves were in the middle of a heated argument. It's not like it was any of his business, Ifan thought, as he eyed a bottle of beer sitting on the edge of the table. His dry throat prickled with thirst, and a soothing drink seemed like an oasis in a desert. He sneaked a glance at the two dwarves, bellowing at each other obliviously, and silently grabbed the drink. Whoever that Magister William was, he might as well go find Ifan himself if his business was so important. 

One of the dwarves cast a sideways glance of disapproval at him, but before Ifan even managed to uncork the bottle, someone yanked him by the arm with surprising force and promptly led him aside. Ifan found himself surrounded by a group of little kids and a pretty redhead, flashing her bright smile at him. Ifan hastily reminded himself not to jump to conclusions about women's appearance so quickly.

“Dearest spouse of mine, would you please tell this very charming gaggle of not-at-all-brat-like babes that I am by no accounts this ‘Lohse’ woman? Nor do I sing  — in fact, I’m deathly, deathly allergical!”

Before Ifan had a chance to react, they were interrupted by an irritated voice coming from behind their backs, “It’s  _ ‘allergic’ _ !” And then quieter but still distinctive, “If you mean to be so unnecessarily public about your business, at least make sure that the others understand what you say. Ignorant savages.” 

The redhead rolled her eyes at the comment, then faced Ifan, dark eyed and dirty haired, clearly expecting his next move. The socializing part caught up with him faster than he’d planned, but Ifan always adapted quickly.

“Loh-sa? You don’t call a lady that. Now, which one of you’s pestering my lady here?” he put an arm around the woman’s shoulders and pulled her closer in, giving the children his best glare.

Completely unfazed, one of the kids, a little boy, said, “It’s _Lohse_ , that is her name. She’s popular and she got the prettiest voice! I know you’re her, you look just like her! Sing, just one song! Please please _please_!”

“And how do you know what this Lohse looks like?” the redhead asked the little boy. The child’s fingers started playing with the hole in his robe. 

“My mum told me. She said Lohse had burning red hair, just like yours.”

The woman threw up her arms, as if what the boy said didn’t make any sense. “See!” she leaned down and beckoned to the children to gather closely around her. “See, you marvelous lot, my hair, in fact, is not red. In truth, it’s of the ugliest mossy colour. Very. Ugly. So...” She straightened up, closed her eyes and took a deep breath as if preparing to reveal the big truth. Then her eyes opened and her face lit up with a bright grin.

“Magic.”

The childrens’ eyes went wide with genuine surprise. “Magic?”

“Oh you bet! Who’d want to have mossy hair? Would you? I didn’t. Red is pretty, isn’t it? But it’s a very big secret. You see,” the woman looked around and then leaned back down, speaking to the children in a hushed voice, “Folk here don’t like magicky stuff. So I trust you don’t run around telling everyone about that.” 

The children got quiet, apparently in awe of the fact that they were now a part of a big secret. Following the moment of silence, the redhead’s mouth thinned up into a straight line. Then her lower lip trembled traitorously and she burst into a loud madcap laughter, drawing attention nearly from everyone present. Even the two dwarves stopped bickering for a moment and were now looking at them. 

“Ha! Look at your faces! Fine, you smart people, you got me. I  _ am _ Lohse,” the woman, Lohse, offered them a clumsy curtsey. “Oh you, good job! No singing though, I am on vacation here. Now shoo!” she waved her hands at the children, chasing them away. 

The commotion died down just as quickly and everybody got back to their own business. Lohse let out a dramatic sigh and looked at Ifan.

“Hey! ‘Don’t call a lady that’?? Why thank you, Sir Itchy Buttocks. That’s your name from now on, by the way. And don’t even think about introducing yourself, yeah? I don’t care,” Lohse pressed her palms against her ears. “La-la-la! Can’t hear you!” 

Ifan grinned, “Not going to lie, it does sound deadlier than what my people call me.”

Lohse let out a sharp laugh, dropping her arms along her sides. “Yeah, yeah, something  _ deadly _ fancy, I presume. Anyway, I’d stick with Itchy Buttocks, if I were you. Nobody likes fancypants.”

“In that case I’m lucky that my job doesn’t require people liking me,” Ifan said and offered his hand. “You can call me Ifan.”

Lohse looked down at his hand and gave it a tentative squeeze.

“Now, the question is whether I will…” she winked and her grip on Ifan’s hand tightened. “Hey. You know what? I like you. You're adequately mysterious, but not like, you know, super mysterious which is making you so creepy that I want to hide. But rather interesting enough to want to figure you out. And you're eager to help out a lady. Let this dazzling princess in distress get you a drink, okay? As a proper thank you. Besides,” Lohse eyed the bottle of beer that Ifan was still holding in one of his hands, “looks like I won't have to bother going around begging for one. Who would have thought that being a prisoner would be so posh, right? Nothing like getting plastered on your first day. Let’s go, Fancy Buttocks.”

Still holding Ifan’s hand, Lohse pulled him towards the table. Ifan sat down on a short stool next to one of the dwarves and Lohse landed on the bench opposite of him. 

“Oh sure, don’t mind us here,” the younger-looking dwarf, the one whose look Ifan caught earlier, said to them. “Invade our privacy, steal our drinks, be obnoxious and loud. Typical humans.”

Lohse tapped two of her fingers on the table and winked at the younger dwarf, “Put it on my tab, old chap.”

“You forget where you are, woman? There ain’t no chap of mine on this gods forsaken piece of sodden wood,” the dwarf said.

“Pipe down already, Gil. You’re the loudest one here. And I don’t think they can be more obnoxious than your sour mug. Hey friends,” the other dwarf that was sitting next to Ifan turned to face him. “You’re welcome to try and beat him at it, although I doubt you are that good, that much I’ll tell you.”

The broad-looking dwarf ran his plump hands over his long dark beard, adorned with shiny clattering medallions that were catching light from a few lit candles sitting on the table.

“Now, if we’re drinking together, proper introductions are in order. I'm Beast, this here is nobody interesting, don’t mind him and if we’re lucky he’ll go away,” Beast took an open bottle of beer and filled two empty mugs, then put one of the mugs in front of Ifan and deftly slided another one across the table towards Lohse. She thanked him with a cheerful salute and the two of them introduced themselves.

“So Gil and I here were just talking,” Beast said. “Nothing of interest, really. Anyhoo,” he nodded towards Lohse. “Lovebirds, ey? Heard you a bit from over here. Must not feel as shite having your wife here with you. Unless it’s even worse. Can’t say how I’d feel knowing one of my own was stuck here with me,” he shook his head pensively and then barked a laugh, his heavy paw slapping Ifan on the back. “Suppose it’s a good thing I’m not married! So you might want to watch your woman around me, lad,” Beast propped his elbow on the table and playfully wiggled his eyebrows at Lohse.

Ifan spluttered an amused huff and drank from his mug. The beer was stale and warm, but at least after a few long gulps his tongue didn’t feel like sandpaper grazing against the roof of his mouth.

Ifan drank and Lohse laughed and time passed. Nobody was coming for Ifan and Ifan wished it to stay that way. 

“Ben-Mezd? Ifan?”

Ifan cursed under his breath at his own thinking. “Depends on who’s asking,” Ifan turned his head and saw a Magister, his face half-hidden under a ridiculous looking hood with a pointy tip. Ifan immediately recognised the distinctive potato nose, broken once, that belonged to one of his former subordinates. Probably because Ifan was the one who’d broken it. In his defence, Ifan had broken a lot of noses, and each time it had been well deserved. This particular nose didn’t heal prettily.

"Sorry, an old friend," Ifan mouthed to his company. He got up from the table and approached the Magister, leading him with his hand on the man’s back to a secluded area around the corner. The Magister, Viktar, Ifan remembered, recoiled at Ifan’s touch. “Keep your filthy hands off me, Sourcerer.”

Ifan leaned back against the door, crossing his arms on his chest.

“Ah, going all official on me, I see,” Ifan smirked. "Nice hat by the way."

“I’ll be damned if I’m not glad to see you here,” Vik said.

“Bet you are, Vik. Bet you are,” Ifan said.

“Finally where you belong,” Vik nodded at his own words. “It was only a matter of time when they’d leash you, that much I always knew.”

Ifan cringed at how unimaginitive the Magisters’ metaphors had been so far.

“I see you take great pleasure in how our roles have been reversed. Finally got to be  _ my _ big boss,” Ifan said.

“You don’t belong to the Order anyway, ben-Mezd, never did. So yes, consider you being here my promotion,” Vik said. “I don’t know what Lucian ever saw in you. You're a gods-awful leader, even back then all you were good for were debauchery and gossip. You must have grown on Lucian's brain like an obnoxious tumor, ben-Mezd, that’s the only explanation I can think of.”

As Vik kept ranting, Ifan eyed a lone elf sitting a bit further from them in a secluded corner of the deck. With one long bare leg outstretched, she was swiftly moving her hands, busy with something. It was impossible to tell what she was so preoccupied with, as she had her back turned towards them.

“Aren’t you sharp, right?” Ifan replied, not really listening to Vik’s blabbering. But the Magister kept going.

“You know what I value above all? Justice. Do you know what justice is, Ifan? Something you never had to rack your pretty little brain over. Because everything was always falling right into your open hands, no matter whether you'd even deserved it. But I'm different. I fought hard for what I have. I deserve it all. And now I've built my whole service around justice. That’s what I bring and that’s what you get. And wherever you go, justice will follow. It catches up with you, however fast you try to outrun it.”

Ifan was sure he didn't need to hear more to be convinced in Vik's ridiculous worshipping his self-created justice concept. "I’m glad you’ve had your closure, Vik, but I must admit, I never thought you'd end up a prison guard. I used to think that, maybe, you'd fill in the ranks of the White Magisters, perhaps become a confidante to the Bishop himself, on par with the Hammer. With your potential, you know. But I suppose that would restrict you in your ways to bring justice, yes? Well I'm happy everything turned out just right for you, Vik.”

What was visible of Vik’s face turned red under his matching hood.

“Go away already, ben-Mezd, I’m past caring about your pointless remarks.” 

“But I like it here. It’s a nice spot. Why don’t you go away, if you don’t want my company that much? And besides, you approached me first.”

Ifan could have sworn he heard the sound of Vik’s teeth grating. The Magister turned away for only a moment, as if ready to go, but then hesitated and faced Ifan once more, his hand clenching around the hilt of his sword. 

“One more thing. I'm sure you've already heard about the murder. And you know what? Of all the vile scum that we've brought in here, I know that you are the one who did it. You're a murderer, ben-Mezd. What, you thought nobody knew? The thing is that it's exactly the opposite. So prepare for a very special treatment once we get to the Joy. I'll make sure to see to that. And if I'm lucky, I'll get to be your personal guard. It will be hell, Ifan. As for now, I'll be watching you close."

"Will we get to be roommates? I hope we will," Ifan said with mocking enthusiasm. 

"All right, Sourcerer. I’m going to go get Jalen. Let’s see how you talk back to the hounds.”

"Weren't you going to watch me closely?" Ifan asked.

The wrinkle formed on the bridge of Vik's mutilated nose. For a moment it looked like the Magister wasn't sure what to do with himself but then he decided to go get backup. Ifan grinned at Vik's back.

As Vik was angrily striding away, a face popped up from behind a wooden screen wall, and a single lanky elf promptly showed up in his entirety. Looking somewhat disoriented, as if he’d been forcefully awakened after a rough night, the elf took in the corner of the deck. Their eyes met for a brief moment, but Ifan managed to catch an inexplicable shadow of recognition on the elf’s unfamiliar face, before the elf averted his eyes and took a step towards his long-legged kin instead. He said something to her, but not loud enough for Ifan to hear what it was about. The two started talking. There was something alike in both of their figures: tall, long-limbed and hunched, with honey skin and dark hair; she had hers tucked into a tall ponytail, while his was messily scattered all around his head, two pointy ears sticking out of the pitch black mess. Their collars, unlike his own, were loosely hanging around their unnaturally long but elegant necks. 

As Ifan kept idly watching the two conversing about something outside of his reach, his mind kept coming back to Vik. He wondered if he'd taken things too far. Nobody liked to be called out for their failures, let alone someone who was above you and could make you regret opening your mouth. Vik, especially, had always been taking things too close to heart. Ifan wondered what kind of trouble he'd gotten himself into this time by unnecessarily pissing off the wrong man. At the very least it could complicate his plans to escape wherever they were going. Vik said something about the Joy, which must have been the Fort Joy. Damn. Of all the places. How did one escape from an island? 

However, Ifan instantly forgot about Vik and the potential trouble he now represented, as he observed the woman taking the elf's extended arm and giving it a long lick with her tongue. Her eyes were locked with his, and Ifan could have sworn he felt electricity sparkling in the air between the two of them, making the hairs on his own arms, an inexcusably curious spectator, stand on end. As if acknowledging his presence, the woman turned around and looked at Ifan for the first time, amusement visible in her eyes. She let go of the elf’s arm and returned to whatever she was doing before. Ifan had spent enough time among elves to recognise memory reading. Normally it wasn’t that sensual. Seductive almost. He connected the woman's knowing look to the trace of recognition on the man's face. And what was his own part in it? He didn’t know or at the very least couldn’t remember. But all be damned if it didn't pique his curiosity.

The elf was now wistfully rubbing the spot on his arm with his thumb, his eyes staring holes into his bare feet. Whatever she saw in his memories, it seemed to have gotten him thinking. He cast another fleeting glance at Ifan, and for a moment it felt like he was considering approaching him, but the elf only nodded at the woman, who wasn't even looking at him anymore, and wandered away. Ifan wished he knew what it was about. 

He should have tried asking Vik more about this murder incident, but then again, the bastard would most likely have disregarded Ifan’s question in the fit of the power-drunk fever. Chances were that Vik made up the murder himself for the sake of sounding extra intimidating. But Vik wasn’t coming back, and neither was that William fellow coming around. Ifan wondered if it had something to do with the commotion stirring up behind the wall in the back of the deck. It was hard to tell what was going on on the deck from his, well,  _ their _ , secluded corner. The woman still had her back turned to Ifan, obviously not interested in his presence anymore. He heard Beast from behind the screen wall ranting something about  _ nautical miles _ when Lohse rushed towards him, looking disturbed and wide-eyed. 

“There’s — ” she noticed the woman sitting in the corner and leaned closer to Ifan, whispering in his ear. “There’s been a murder. On the ship. A Sourcerer, dead,” Ifan furrowed his brow; so Vik was telling the truth. There really was a murder. The stench coming from one of the rooms earlier before was now pulling at his memory.

“Wait. I thought — ” he didn’t. Ifan already knew, he just chose not to bother thinking about it. He should have. All of them were clearly prisoners in the Magisters’ eyes, but executing one of them right on the ship? It didn’t make any sense. They had already put them in cages by having them collared, and simple magic couldn’t possibly be enough to antagonize a Magister. Moreover, it would take being unreasonably careless to try and pull anything with no weapon, no armour and under constant supervision. No, something didn’t add up. “Hold on a second. Did a Magister murder them?”

“No. Yes? I don’t know. This elfy guy comes to us just now, starts asking something about the murder… Says the Magisters don’t know anything. They’re investigating.”

The Magisters don’t know anything. It didn’t leave them with many other possible options. Ifan recalled boarding; crying, scared faces, desperate for explanation before being thrown into the horrifying unknown.

“Could it be… well, you know? Wherever we’re going, it won’t be a holiday resort,” Ifan said. 

Lohse shook her head.

“They found body pieces, a puddle of blood and a broken collar. I know that there is a spell like that, but you can’t cast it on a living being. And you can’t do that to yourself while you’re still alive, if this is what you're implying here, so it kinda rules it out. Well, you could technically go catch yourself a Magister, fry their brain or something, and then boom, but why do I find it unlikely? I mean, look at these guys," she pointed her finger at a Magister on the other side of the deck, keeping his eyes locked on them. "Damn creeps, brrr," she shuddered demonstratively. "So it's gotta be one of us then, yeah? That's grim. And you know what? I say, don't stick your nose into this mess and go about your business. Or stand, or sit. Not much else to do in here. Might as well go challenge one of these lovely people to a staring contest," she grinned and waved at the Magister watching them.

“So you came here to tell me that there’s a murderer on the loose and you don’t care?”

“You know what? Yeah. Listen, if  _ this _ is the most frightening thing you find on this ship then you’re clearly looking the wrong way,” suddenly, her face darkened. She looked straight at him, a stranger with cold unfamiliar eyes. “Because it’s not.”

“Well now… do I want to ask?” he did. The change in her was unmistakable,  _ real _ , it clearly wasn’t one of her jokes. She knew something, something  _ big _ , and Ifan really had to do something about his insatiable curiosity.

“Do you? Let’s see if we survive this first, whatever’s ahead of us. Then maybe we can find each other and share a story or two over a cold one, yeah? You look like you got stuff to share. It’s in your eyes,” Lohse seemed to come back to her usual self, but then again a shadow of anguish shrouded her expression and she continued in a quiet and somber voice. “They say it’s always in the eyes. And who’s that?” 

And just like that she was back again.

Ifan’s eyes followed Lohse’s finger pointing at the elven woman. 

“Ifan ben-Mezd, have you been staring at that woman? With your wife living and breathing just behind the wall, having the time of her life with a distinctively handsome dwarf and his cranky companion? That’s not very proper of you!”

The woman’s shoulders tensed in the distance. 

“She heard me, didn’t she?” Lohse nudged Ifan’s side with her elbow. “I'm going to go ahead and fix it right up, watch."

Just as she took a step towards the elf, an evil, blood chilling laughter shook the deck, followed by what seemed to be panicked shouts of the Magisters who were desperately trying to maintain now wavering authority in their shaking voices. Lohse froze and turned to look back at Ifan, her eyebrows raised in silent question. Nearby a hound started barking uncontrollably as one of the Magisters was trying to get it to quiet down. 

Ifan returned to the table to check what was happening on the deck. Beast looked at him from under the furrowed brow.

"Something ain't right, boy. Something's brewin'," he said, nodding towards the back of the ship behind the wall.

"Is it too much to hope that they're just having a laugh over a good joke?" Ifan asked.

"Don't be an idiot!" Gil's voice was shaking. The dwarf's unmoving body was tense, as if ready to crawl in itself at the first sign of upcoming danger, his small beady eyes nervously darting around the deck. "These bastards don't know what a joke is." 

"Neither do you, Gil," Ifan retorted. 

Beast was stroking his beard pensively as he spoke, "Nay, the waters are restless. This lad went in there just now," he cast another glance at the closed door, guarded by a Magister.

"Oh, the elfy boy?" Lohse peered in from behind Ifan's back. "He didn't seem like the type to cause trouble. What do you think?"

"Might not be one. Might be one to find it though," Beast mused.

One thing was clear by now  — whatever was happening, it went out of the Magisters' control; those behind the wall quit trying to keep their voices down and were now desperately attempting to submit whoever they were confronting there. The Reds guarding them on the deck were exchanging confused looks, possibly unsure whether they should go investigate or keep their watch.

The situation was quickly becoming a mess. The prisoners were succumbing to panic, scared for their life now more than ever; if anything were to happen, they didn't have any means of protecting themselves. Some of them were yelling in the Magisters' faces, demanding to make the collars go. One of those faces was Vik's, and as he lifted his sword in his unsteady hands, the whole ship shook, as if the waters carrying it became agitated by the presence of something alien roaming underneath, something that didn't belong there. 

Before Vik had a chance to use his sword, the ship lurched to the side, sending both the Magisters and the Sourcerers toppling down and sideways. The sword fell out of Vik's grip and tumbled along the floor with a loud clunking sound. Streams of troubled waters broke through the shattered windows, washing over everyone who didn't manage to cling for their life. Ifan had his instincts to thank for reacting in time as he grasped onto the nearby wooden beam supporting the upper deck. He spotted Beast rolling along the floor and hitting a heap of crates that piled up against the wall and disappearing under the foam.

Ifan couldn't see Lohse anywhere but he heard Gil shouting at someone he was sharing the other beam with. 

"Let bloody go! It won't hold both of us! You'll break it you sodding animal!" with a heavy grunt he struggled to move his body to the side and sunk his teeth in the lizard's arm. The woman cried out in pain and reflexively let go of the beam. Ifan watched helplessly as her body was falling down. Her head hit the corner of the flipped table, painting the water a faint red tint. Ifan cursed under his breath and tried to think of what he could possibly do now, but the damn tightness of the collar wouldn't let him focus.

“Deathfog!” someone, a Magister, shouted out, his throat gurgling with water, as he was trying to keep his body on the surface. “The ship is loaded with deathfog! Damn you all!”

As everything around Ifan was being swallowed by chaos, amidst the screaming and spluttering pleading for help, Ifan let a thought creep into his mind: was this how he was going to die? As a dog on a Magisters' leash, with nobody in the whole world to mourn him? He couldn't even say goodbye to Afrit, because the Magisters had taken him away. He didn't have a family because he'd chosen to pledge his life to Lucian and his Divine Order instead. He didn't even have a privilege to die free because the Magisters had hunted him down. And now he was going to die as a prisoner of something he used to be a part of. Was it Vik's justice finally holding him by the scruff of his neck? Ifan looked at Vik's lifeless body bobbing on the surface with a tip of his own blade showing through his neck and had to suppress the urge to laugh at the irony. Stupid idealistic idiot. Justice wasn't the idea of uncompromised and equal righteousness, not anymore. It was just a strong word behind which people were hiding their petty little souls, unforgiving, envious and greedy for vengeance.

Ifan's arms were getting weak and sore as he kept hugging the beam, telling himself to be smarter than Vik and not to rely too much on nonexistent virtues; if there was one thing that had gone extinct alongside justice in Rivellon, it was hope.

And that was it. He was going to die. There was too much water on the board even for the most desperate to abandon all hope. The ship was sinking. It was transporting Deathfog. All aboard were goners, Sourcerers and Magisters alike, and when their bodies rot away on the bottom of the sea, it would be impossible to tell one from the other, if not for the ugly shimmering collars around some of the necks. Somehow Ifan didn't doubt they would remain in place.

Ifan closed his eyes, letting go of the beam and giving himself to the water. He didn't hope for anything. Water didn't show mercy. Water was just water. 

He didn't hear the explosion. A powerful force slammed his body against the wall and then he was gone.


	2. In Joy We Rejoin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lohse's song in this chapter written by me and brought to you by Adramahlikh's courtesy. :) Thank you for reading and I hope you'll like it!

Or so he thought.

Ifan came to his senses with a sharp jerk of his body. He was freezing, his prison rugs drenched. He dry heaved, spitting out what was left of the water in his lungs.

It took him a moment to realize that he was lying on a block of ice. 

That he was alive.

That there was a battle going on, as Ifan noticed whirling cones of ice coming out of Lohse’s hands in rapid spurts. 

“About time! We could use some help!” her spell landed right in front of him, sending a slimy body of an oversized bug back to the water where the ice abruptly ended. Lohse’s bare feet were dark crimson from maneuvering on the ice. Ifan scrambled to his feet and assessed the situation. 

To his left Beast was smacking another bug with a sopping chunk of wood which looked like it was about to fall apart with the next blow. “Damn— creatures—,” he looked breathless and exhausted; there was a gashing wound on his head, his beard was wet with water and blood and sweat, but at least he survived. A bit further from him, the two elves Ifan had been watching earlier were fighting back at least four creatures at once. Lohse made sure that each of them had at least some surface under their feet. Ice was terrible to fight on but they were still alive, thanks to her. Water itself wasn’t enough to stop the monsters. They kept crawling back up onto the ice, jumping effortlessly from surface to surface. 

“Ideas? Anyone?” Lohse shouted, hitting a bug in the air with an ice shard. It went right through its body and the monster went underwater with a high pitched squeak and didn’t seem to get back up. At that time another creature crawling along the wall behind Lohse’s back pounced at her.

“Duck!” Ifan shouted back. Lohse crouched, slipping and almost falling down in the water, but the monster never reached her. Ifan watched as its body remained in the air, devoured by a massive swarm of insects. It was convulsing, shrieking in agony and in mere seconds there was nothing left of it. The swarm darted across the deck towards the elves. 

“Sebille, behind me,” the man ordered, and the woman, Sebille, let out a disdainful huff, but slid behind his back on her soles in one smooth glide, stabbing the bug with a small sharp object in her hand. The elves seemed to be faring better than the rest of them. Ifan knew that their skin was naturally thicker making it easier to walk on rough surfaces. The man turned around and looked at Ifan, wiping sweat from his forehead. Ifan immediately noticed streaks of fresh blood coming out of deep cuts on the insides of his arms. Behind him, the mosquito swarm was waiting for an order to strike.

“Are you hurt?” the elf asked him as if Ifan was the one fighting the hardest. Ifan wasn’t hurt but he was also of no help to the others. He wasn’t a mage and he didn’t have a weapon. Whatever happened to his crossbow, to all of his confiscated belongings, it didn’t matter anymore. It was gone. Afrit was locked away in the deepest unreachable corner of his soul. All Ifan had left were his fists and he always was at his best from the distance.

“Ifan?” 

How did he know his name? Ifan shook his head. 

They were done with the monsters but they still had to get out of there. As if reading his mind, the elf looked away from him and shouted, “All of you. Get out of here. The hatch up the deck was blocked but the way should be clear now. There is a lifeboat. Go!” 

Ifan didn’t need to be told twice. He looked at Lohse and with a short nod, she swiftly weaved a narrow ice path leading to the half-sunk ladder. The ice didn’t look particularly sturdy but Ifan decided that he didn’t have a choice other than trust Lohse’s magic. It was magical enough that the ship hadn’t gone underwater yet. It was supposed to be half way down to the bottom by now. Nothing made sense. 

Step by step and one by one, Ifan and Lohse together with Beast made their way towards the ladder. As soon as Lohse got out, the nearby barrel, bobbing restlessly on the surface, toppled over and Gil crawled out of it, hitting the water with a loud splash. 

“Give me a hand! Quickly — !” he went under in an instance, his fat paw demandingly sticking out above the surface. 

“Dammit,” Beast was almost out but he let go of the ladder and grabbed the dwarf’s hand, struggling to pull him out of the water. “A little help?” he barked at Ifan. Ifan wrapped his arms around Beast and pulled. His feet kept slipping on the ice, making it almost impossible to do anything, but the drowning dwarf must have had immense love for life; he dragged his own body up on the ice with unparalleled determination. As soon as he was out of the water, Gil pushed Beast aside, almost shoving him off the ice, and jumped on the ladder.

“Connivin' little shit!” Beast balanced himself and cursed at Gil's back, as the rescued dwarf vanished upstairs with a heavy fit of coughing, and then quickly followed suit. Ifan was supposed to go next. It was dangerous to stay there. He turned around to look at the elves, “You two need a moment or what?”

"Looking for survivors,” the man shouted back at him. He went back to checking the bodies showing on the surface. Something seemed to have caught his eye, as the elf struggled to pull one of the bodies out of the water. Ifan heard him curse. He squinted and recognized the red-haired boy pestering Lohse about singing earlier. The child’s face looked so peaceful that for a second Ifan thought the boy was asleep. The elf put the boy's body on its back and rose from his knees. “Didn’t you hear me? Get out!”

Ifan looked at Sebille, who was just standing there patiently, her arms crossed, as if she had all the time in the world. As Ifan started climbing up the ladder, he told himself that those two were crazy and if they died it wouldn’t be his fault. They were definitely going to die.

His immediate instinct was to go back down, barricade the hatch and probably hide in a barrel like Gil. If the lower decks were hells, Ifan went far and beyond just by climbing up the ladder. It wasn’t about the weather, one would wish; the sky was clear and the sea wasn’t stormy. It was about a gigantic monster, towering over the ship. One of its massive tentacles was wrapped around the vessel in a way that would make it snap in two pieces under slightest pressure of the monster’s grasp. That explained why they hadn’t sunk, but it also wasn’t much of consolation. Everything around was on fire. Corpses of voidlings, Magisters and their hounds carpeted the ground in a gory mass of blood and torn limbs. The smell of burning flesh hit Ifan hard. He swallowed bile coming up his throat and hid his nose and mouth in the crook of his elbow, stepping over a squashed body of a bug lying in a pool of green goo. Poison, Ifan thought, judging by the acidic smell. Careful to avoid poison and fire, he doubled down across the deck just before a sound of cracking wood echoed in the night and one of the masts fell down right over the hatch. 

The lifeboat was still there.

“Cut down the damn ropes you bloody imbeciles!” Gil shouted. 

“Wait!” Lohse seemed to have spotted Ifan approaching them amidst the flames as they were now devouring everything in their way. Another mast collapsed on the barrels of oil which somehow remained intact until then. The explosion shook the ship and Ifan almost fell down in the water as he was trying to get in the lifeboat. The monster seemed uninterested in them getting away. It was hovering over the half-destroyed vessel in menacing silence, the dark scales of its skin glistening in the moonlight. 

Ifan sat down between Lohse and Gil. The lifeboat wasn't particularly big and there were five of them cramped inside. It would be a miracle to make it to shore like that. 

"Anybody got a knife?" Ifan asked.

"Yes, this Magister lass gave it to me to remember her by before the monster made a pulp out of her!" Gil snapped. 

"There are plenty of swords on the deck," Lohse pointed out.

"Be my guest, I'm not stepping my foot back in there," Gil said.

Everybody went quiet for a moment.

"Are you out of your damn mind? Do something! Use your bloody magic!" Gil yelled in their faces.

"Could've started bitin' through the rope instead of complainin', we'd be out of here long ago," Beast remarked bitterly.

The monster shifted underwater, its grasp on the ship tightening. It sent a wave of water splashing over them. Gil grabbed onto the side of the boat, keeping himself steady. "Get us the fuck out of here before it floods the boat!" 

"I've an idea," Lohse said. She touched the rope, holding it between her thumb and pointing finger. Her touch coated the rope in a thin layer of ice, looping around it and thickening gradually as she was maintaining her spell. She then did the same with the other rope. "Now need to hit it so that it shatters."

"Wait!" a little girl to Lohse's left cried out. "Where is the man?"

"Can't you see the ship, kid?" Gil snarled. "Open your eyes, ain't no darn man alive in that blasted bedlam! Cut the fucking ropes or I'll shove one of you out of the damn boat!"

"B-but-" the little girl's face fell. "I asked him to go back for you all. He promised me he would."

"So here we bloody are! Now get us down!"

Ifan didn't know what to say to that. If the girl was talking about the elf, then there was nothing to say. He was dead and that was it. No kind of magic known to Ifan could possibly get those two out of the situation they'd placed themselves into. But then again, Ifan wasn't the most knowledgeable one when it came to magic. He quietly took one of the oars out of the lock and passed the other one to Beast. They had to count to three to land their hits at the same time. The ship was already half sunk so luckily they weren't very high above the surface; the ice shattered and the boat hit the water with a splash, dangerously close to flipping over.

It was unsettling how tranquil the night was after everything that happened. The sea monster was idly observing the ship with the air of a spoilt child standing over a broken toy, knowing it would get more of them later. All the shouting and crying long gone, there was only soft crackling of the burning wood behind their backs and quiet sobbing of the little girl. 

Ifan oared faster to keep up with Beast rowing in the front.

Lohse wrapped her arms around the girl and pulled her in, placing the child's head in her lap.

"Now now, sweetheart, that's okay. I'm sure he'll be fine," a stranded lock of hair fell over the girl's tear-stained face, and Lohse gently tucked it behind the child's ear. "You know what I heard? That it takes waaay more than one ugly fish to mess with an elf. They're sturdy folks."

The girl whimpered quietly in Lohse's lap.

"What's your name, dear?" Lohse asked her.

"T-trice," the child answered weakly through the hiccup.

"You were one of the little ones nagging me, weren't you?"

Trice lifted her face and looked around. "Where's Paulie?"

"Who's Paulie, darling?" Lohse asked.

"My best friend. His hair is also red like yours but his is not magic," Trice said.

Lohse looked at Ifan, searching his face for what to say to that. Ifan saw a child's body and the description that Trice provided confirmed that it was Paulie. 

"He got out before us in another boat," Ifan lied. It wasn't the time to be ruthless.

"Oh," Trice breathed out. "I wish he was in this boat."

"I know, baby," Lohse said, softly caressing the child's hair. "C'mere, I'll sing you a song."

Trice put her head back in Lohse's lap, pressing her little fists to her mouth.

"Right, why don't we start dancing too, I'm sure that the creature'll appreciate the entertainment!" Gil complained. Beast's hand left the oar for a moment and landed on the side of Gil's head with a fat smack.

"Shut yer stinkin' trap or yer gettin' off this boat right now," he growled. To Ifan's surprise, Gil went quiet. He crossed his arms and sunk into his corner.

"I'm cold," Trice rubbed her palms together.

"How about we make the biggest warmest campfire as soon as we get to shore?" Lohse offered her.

"Are we going to the beach?" Trice asked.

"Yeah, baby, we're going to the beach. Do you like seashells? There are plenty of seashells. It'll keep you busy for a long time."

"I like seashells," Trice said quietly. "Can you sing a song now?" she looked up at Lohse expectantly.

Lohse smiled with no sanguine in her eyes. Ifan couldn't blame her for being in low spirits, but he could admire the way she pretended that she wasn't.

She started singing. Her voice was somewhat raw and rough over the edges, but otherwise pleasant to listen to.

_ Sleep, darling, hurry up and float, float ahead _

_ Let a boat made of golden grass be your little bed _

_ Let your cosy bed be your little boat _

_ Set sail and ahead you float _

_ Float along the streams of the deepest rivers _

_ To undiscovered shores make sure to deliver _

_ The word to people from the cold side of death _

_ Of the importance of your every breath _

_ Sleep, sweetheart, run away and glide _

_ Like dark moon oil, through woods and lakesides _

_ To blue lagoons, graceful lighthouses _

_ Through raging seas; once the wave arouses _

_ Escape its grasp to the distant lands. _

_ Into coldest snows, hottest sands _

_ Sink both of your hands. _

_ Drift away with ease, love, and rush, whirl, _

_ Through bazaars filled with incense, candles and pearls  _

_ Fly through bustle of cities, catch the wind in your curls  _

_ From high peaks of mountains to deep oceans you roam _

_ And now it’s time to come back home _

Once she finished singing, Ifan was sure he caught the look of surprise on Lohse's face. 

Everybody was quiet. Ifan’s arms were becoming sore. It felt like he was holding his breath for the last hour or so, not yet feeling safe to finally let it out. Ifan took a look behind: the ship was gone and so was the monster, as if neither of them had ever been there in the first place. The whole world around them was silent except for the rhythmic splashing sound of still water hitting against the oars.

“Nice song there, lass,” Beast finally said, keeping his eyes on the horizon, while his arms were swiftly working the oars. “Not the type you’d usually hear out in the sea though.”

“Not enough booty to your liking?” Lohse looked down at Trice. The girl seemed to doze off.

Beast laughed heartily. “Which kind we talking about?” 

“Which kind do you prefer?” Lohse teased him.

“You see, lass, this is the question you never ask someone like me,” Beast replied.

“And who are you? A booty predator?” Lohse pushed.

“You could say so,” he turned his head to face her. “Before I became a ship cargo, I’d been the ship captain. So to answer your question: both. Actually — ”

Gil groaned wearily from his corner. “For the love of all that’s holy, don’t get him started on that.”

“Were you on his crew, Gil?” Ifan asked.

“Duna forbid, of course no,” Gil said. “I had a real job. Used to make shoes.”

“Am I sensing a story there?” Ifan pried.

“Aye, a story alright,” Gil hawked up and spit in the water with a distinctive gross sound. “So this Red commissions boots. A simple leather pair, nothing fancy. Remember thinking back then how lucky I got. Dolly job, and besides the Reds tend to pay much better coin than common folk. Just like I thought, I’m done in no time. The next morning the Red comes back, stares at the boots like I put them on and stepped in shit before giving them to him, and tells me the soles aren’t thick enough, so no money for me. I go and carve a new pair of soles. No big deal. The Red comes in shortly after that, looks at the boots. Now he wants undetachable greaves. Bloody greaves are a pain in the ass to work with. But sure. I go make him the damn greaves. Not taking any other orders on the side, mind you. That's already three days working my butt off on a single pair of what was supposed to be simple shit stompers. Think about it. 

“The Red comes, takes the boots, stares at them for an hour. I’m standing there staring back at him clenching my buttcheeks. He says nothing, hands me the boots and tells me he wants laces. Bloody laces under the bloody greaves. So I throw one of the boots at him. Greave splits his nose in two. Beautiful,” Gil was staring dreamily into the mirror-like surface of the water. “They take me in, of bloody course. I struggle, punch a few mugs, the end.”

Lohse whistled. “Aren’t you a feisty one.” 

“You fools don’t even know what the best part about this complete shitshow is,” Gil continued. Beast snickered knowingly in the front.

“Beats me,” Ifan said.

“I’m not even a bloody Sourcerer.”

Beast exploded, laughing uncontrollably and dropping the oars in the locks. Ifan took advantage of an opportunity to take a breather, rolling his shoulders back and forth.

“I must have pissed the feller off his poor mind so he decided to bugger up my whole life. Indecisive little shit.”

“Now you can pretend you’re more important than you actually are,” Beast retorted through the fit of laughter. “From a little angry cobbler to a little fake Sourcerer. Mrs. Gil must be so proud back at home.”

“Shut your mug, alright? Aren’t we gonna talk about that thing instead? The one in the water? Or is it something you see in the streets every day, wherever you lot are from?” Gil said. 

Beast clicked his tongue. “There are legends. You wouldn’t believe how many monstrosities a mind of a man stranded in the sea can come up with. We are superstitious folk. This particular one is about a gigantic octopus lurking underwater and terrorizing ships. But it is what it is. A legend.”

“Whatever that was seemed pretty real to me,” Lohse said. “And it stank of fish.”

“Everything out in the sea stinks of fish, lass. Anywho,” Beast wiped the sweat off his brow and leaned forward, staring into the water. “We’re close to shore lads. Look,” he pointed his finger at the surface. “Notice the colour. Getting lighter, meaning we’re not in the deep waters anymore. Besides,” Beast closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Can smell it alright. Not  _ just _ fish. Rotten fish. Mortar. Civilization.”

They kept going. It seemed like Beast’s observation triggered their second breath, as they took to rowing with twice the vigor. Ifan felt a rush of energy flowing through him, fueled by the promise of the land. 

The shore was springing up before their eyes with blinding white sands and clamour of seagulls preying on unsuspecting fish. By the time they disembarked, it had already dawned, the sun shining warmly on their backs. After helping Beast drag the boat out of the water, Ifan looked around. A bit further from them verdure was embracing the island with lush grass and bushes. The scenery seemed untouched by humans' presence and only a large stone statue overgrown with moss and weeds was giving away a hint of the potential civilization Beast was talking about. Behind the statue a damaged staircase developed into one half of a destroyed rampant, akin to those you could see in strongholds of the old days.

"Sooo," Lohse stretched her body towards the sun, her feet sinking into the sand. "What is this charming little paradise?"

"The ship's destination point," Beast responded plainly, thrusting a sturdy looking branch into the sand. He took the boat by the rope and moored it to the branch. "And here we are."

Gil jumped to his feet with a panicked expression on his face. "Hold on a bloody minute. You saying you’ve just brought us into the godsdamn Magisters' den? Are you touched in the head?!" he sank his fingers in his hair, pulling desperately at the roots.

Calmly, Beast double checked the rope. "Ain't no other place to go."

"Whatever in blazes do you mean no other place? There's  _ plenty _ of other places! Literally any other place that is not here!" Gil exclaimed.

"Nothing in the vicinity. We'd sailed around here with the boys before, once or twice. Nothing else you could reach in this babygirl," Beast nodded towards the boat sitting unhelpfully in the sand. "Stop with the crying already, you're embarrassing me personally and all the dwarven race as a whole. Can’t seem to catch a break from you can I.”

"Duna's flaming balls," Gil groaned, the sound resembling a wounded wolf's howl. He started pacing restlessly, treading a straight shallow pit in the sand. 

Ifan sank down, grains of sand instantly peppering his hair and the sweaty skin on his neck, arms and legs. "What is your plan?" he asked Beast. He was starting to get a throbbing headache behind his eyes, and the growling in his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten anything in days. 

"We make a fire. We look around for food. We get some sleep. And most importantly, we don't march inside the Joy like this, a merry bunch of vagabonds we are. At night we go our separate ways. Too crowded to go unnoticed," Beast replied matter-of-factly.

Ifan heard things about Fort Joy, or how Beast referred to it,  _ the Joy _ . Not historical things, but things that would make one's skin crawl in disbelief that a place like that could possibly exist somewhere out there in the High Seas. Distant and secluded, Fort Joy wasn't merely a prison, it was a Sourcerer's grave. No one was believed to be able to escape it without partying with their life. Then there were also other rumours. Famine, deadly diseases, prison hierarchy, torture, organized crime, wicked experiments to name a few. 

"I can't believe you didn't say anything about where we were bloody going!" Gil cried out.

"And what would ye've done if I'd told ye, genius?" Beast finally faced him, visibly annoyed. "Would've stayed on the blasted ship, aye? Ye know what, now that I'm thinkin' 'bout it, I shouldn't’ve rescued yer useless fat arse in the first place!"

It didn’t help Ifan’s headache. He stood up and left the dwarves to their bickering, walking towards Lohse who was crouching next to Trice over the water.

“Hey,” Ifan said.

“Hey,” Lohse said back, looking up at him and then back at Trice. “Sweetie, I’m going to leave you for just a second, don’t wander away, alright? How about you find me the prettiest seashell meanwhile?”

Trice nodded quietly, her little hands shaping a clumsy sandhill near the water. The gentle wave arose and washed over the child’s construction in one swift motion. Lohse got up and they sidewalked a bit further from the water. She crossed her arms on her chest, pensively looking into the horizon. “I’ll be honest with you, I wasn’t planning on becoming a mom for at least the next twenty years.”

Ifan huffed amusedly. “Can’t say any of us expected things would turn out the way they did. I myself certainly wasn’t planning on going for a swim. I hate getting wet,” he followed Lohse’s gaze. They were quiet for a moment.

“Did you also notice Beast talking funnily when he’s mad?” Lohse suddenly asked him. “He’d make a funny little pirate. Gods — !” she threw back her head and turned to look at Ifan. “What are we gonna do now? And this,” she wrapped her fingers around her collar, idly humming against her skin with corrupted magic. “I’ve never fancied jewelry.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Ifan couldn’t think of anything better to say. He didn’t have answers to either of her questions. “Let’s stick to Beast’s plan for now.”

“Right, I’m famished. Do you mind taking care of the fire while I watch over the child? Gods — , ”  she said again. “I’ve no idea what I’m gonna do with her. And she thinks it’s her fault that the elfy guy died. How come children are even able to comprehend things like that? But he really did save us back there, you know? Wish we could have done something to save him back instead of just running away.”

“I think he knew me from somewhere,” Ifan said. “He called me by my name.”

Lohse raised her eyebrows, “Are you a celebrity or something? This is what happens to me all the time, as you could probably tell,” she nudged Ifan with her elbow.

“Only in particular circles,” Ifan replied. “But I don’t believe our paths had crossed before.”

“Odd, isn’t it,” Lohse said woefully. “No way of finding out now.”

When Ifan came back later with a heap of dry sticks and branches, he found Beast waist-deep in the water. Ifan dropped the wood on the ground and approached the dwarf.

“Can’t get enough, can you?” Ifan joked.

“What can I say,” Beast replied cheerfully, and Ifan was relieved to see that he didn’t sound mad anymore. “I was born twice. Once from my mother’s womb and then on my first night in the open sea. I’ll only get to die once and when it’s time, the sea’s where I’ll come,” he shoved his hands in the water. “Got you!” when the dwarf’s hands re-emerged from the water, there was a fish wriggling in his grasp. He showed it to Ifan. “A chub. Decent in pie, not that much in anything else, but it’ll have to do,” he threw the fish on the shore. “Let’s see.”

By the end of Beast’s fishing activity they had two chubs, one mackerel and five tiny herrings. They arranged the wood into a neat pile.

“Anybody know any fire spells?” Beast asked them. 

As it turned out, nobody did. Beast got up with a deep sigh and came back with two small rocks in his hands. He kneeled in front of the campfire and chuckled. “Out of all the people in the world, I got stranded with a cobbler, a singer and a child. And you,” he looked at Ifan, “not the wizardly type, aye?” Ifan smiled and shrugged apologetically. “That's alright lads. We’ll do it the old fashioned way,” Beast started vigorously rubbing the rocks against each other, and after a few sparks the fire was slowly setting in. Lohse was skewering fish onto the branches, mixed with a few mushrooms that Gil had found somewhere in the grass, Trice resting quietly at her side. Ifan had examined the mushrooms first and concluded that they were edible. They split the food. Beast got a mackerel, Gil got a chub and Lohse shared the other one with Trice. It left Ifan with herrings, which weren't even close to being enough to quench his hunger, but at least the mushrooms added a pleasant flavour to the meal. Lohse was nibbling on her chub and handing boneless pieces of meat to Trice.

Gil was the first to finish eating. He belched and smacked his lips, resting his hands on his belly. "Not bad, not bad. But I'd kill for a mug of root beer." 

The comfort of the fire and the hot food seemed to have helped them forget about their hardships if only for a moment. 

It was still hours until dark. Beast explained to them that he had never been inside Fort Joy himself, but according to his understanding which was based on the rumours, the patrol during the night hours was scarce, if any at all. It could be explained simply by the fact that nobody attempted to escape since there was nowhere to go. And those who tried either reposed on the bottom of the High Seas or came back to the fort willingly, realising the price of their freedom. However, Beast still insisted on them going inside separately, which would help them more easily merge with other prisoners. They would keep a low profile and think over ideas on their escape, meeting occasionally to update each other on any progress. That was the plan.

As the dusk was setting in, they were sitting around the fire sharing bits and pieces of their stories.

"I don't suppose any of you is also a healer," Beast touched the wound on his head with his fingertips.

"Not a healer, but I know enough about survival not to want to touch my wounds with dirty fingers," Ifan said.

"And I've heard that pissing on the wound helps," Gil said. "I'm willing to volunteer." 

Beast rolled his eyes at Gil's remark. "Lads in the sea are more civilized than you."

"Ah yeah, sea this and sea that. Tell you what, I'm sick of the sea after today. Seeing it, talking about it, smelling it makes me want to puke my guts out," he got up with a heavy grunt. "I'm going to go take a piss in your precious sea. Yell if you reconsider."

"So charming," Lohse said, watching Gil as he was walking away. 

"He's just taking it hard," Beast said. "He knows that he doesn't belong here and it's eating him from inside. Don't get me wrong, neither of us do, but he doesn’t use his Source. Bet he doesn’t even know how. Cobblers have little use of magic, I imagine, but it’s still his own fault in the end. I say, if you go into business, learn how to behave around your clients. But this one? Nay, there’s too much bitterness in him. Suppose he’d be better off as a Sourcerer after all.”

“Am I a Sourcerer too?” Trice asked sleepily.

Beast looked at her, seemingly surprised by the question. “Child, do you even know what that means?”

“My mum says Sourcerers are evil. She says daddy helps punish them,” the girl said.

“And where is your mommy, sweetie?” Lohse asked her.

“Home.”

“Where is your home?”

“Near the fields. Next to Paulie's house.”

“Well then,” Beast stroked his beard. It was tangled and dirty, half of the medallions were gone. “Why don’t you go get some sleep? You must be very tired,” he pointed his finger at the patch of grass under one of the trees. “That looks like a nice spot.”

Lohse helped Trice on her feet and led her towards the tree. After she came back, Ifan put out the fire and the four of them started settling for sleep. 

“We have a few hours. Before dawn we should start getting inside one by one,” Beast instructed them.

“In that case one of us should stay up and make sure the others wake up,” Ifan suggested. Lohse was already snoring quietly to his right.

“Go sleep you two,” Gil waved his hand dismissively. “I’m not getting a wink anywhere near the bloody Reds.”

Ifan darted him a suspicious glance and then looked at Beast, expecting him to disagree. But the dwarf nodded approvingly and rolled on his side, drifting off almost immediately.

“What, you scared I’ll stab you in your sleep with a branch?” Gil asked Ifan mockingly. “You stole my beer after all. Perhaps I will,” he snorted and wandered further away, landing on the shore over the sea with his back towards them.

Ifan lied down on the sand and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the itch from sea salt. The prospect of a bath any time soon seemed unlikely. He told himself he'd had it worse, which usually helped. He thought about everything that happened in the span of the last day and felt the urge to call upon Afrit. He imagined his wolf curling at his side, keeping him warm and safe and maybe less lonely. Ifan would be able to deal with the rest.

He woke up to the sight of the stars spilled all over the night sky like countless droplets of milk. Ifan rose on his elbows, looking around and spotting Beast sitting quietly over the water. The dwarf didn't move, as Ifan approached him from behind and sat down at his side. 

"Gone," Beast said, his eyes locked on the water.

Ifan furrowed his brow. "What's gone?"

"What little was left of the common sense in this godsforsaken world. Gil's gone. The boat's gone. You do the math, lad."

Ifan looked at where the boat had been moored but it wasn't there anymore. 

"That thickheaded idiot. I told him, told all of ye that there's nowhere to go. He'll be dead by the next mornin'. Should've bloody listened," Beast shook his head. "An outstandin' twat he is, aye, but he's also a dwarf. Dwarves aren't s'pposed to be so monumentally obtuse. Pisses the dear life off of me," he groaned, dropping his face in his hands. "Duna's beard! Should've known better than let the fat-arsed bugger out of my sight. Dammit Gil. You know lad, it's nice to have one of your own around."

The sea was calm and the night was quiet. Thinking about it made it easier to forget the world around them was going down in flames. Ifan curled his toes in the wet sand. "If you want to mourn, mourn the elf that saved our lives today, or the rest of good people who died on that ship. Dwarf or not, gods, be he Duna himself, Gil's not worth it," Ifan got up on his feet. "I'm going inside. Make sure that Lohse and the girl go after me, no good in leaving them alone behind. I'll look around for you later," as Ifan was walking away, he stopped and turned around to look at Beast one more time. "He  _ was _ a twat."

Beast didn’t respond.

The path to Fort Joy led along the ruined rampant. The entrance inside was hard to miss. There were no guards at the gates because there were no gates, making it possible for everyone to leave the fort at any time; a cruel irony, Ifan thought to himself, a straight out mockery that the Magisters must have enjoyed daily shoving in the prisoners' faces.

Ifan walked up the stairs overgrown with patches of grass, feeling the sand under his feet changing to solid rock ground. He looked up at the Divine Order flag, hanging over one of the braziers, the all-seeing eye peering at him knowingly from the open palm. Inside the fort, a gutter, too sophisticated looking for being built as a part of a ghetto, was running down the path like a welcoming carpet; Ifan didn’t doubt it was utilised for draining blood as well as rainwater. He took another step and froze; before him, among wilted flowers, lit candles and scarce offerings, Lucian was towering in all his Divine glory, watching Ifan with his cold marble eyes. 

_ You are their only salvation. _

Ifan kept going. Walking behind the shrine, he found himself on the bridge leading down to a kitchen. Open pots sitting on the tables against the wall were all empty, and a makeshift campfire looked like it hadn’t been lit in ages. Ifan started down the stairs, when he heard a clattering sound of a cast iron lid hitting the ground. Ifan froze in his steps, and so did whoever was causing the ruckus. Nearby, a body jolted upright, lit a candle and rushed towards the stairs where Ifan was standing still, caught off guard. A furious face fixed him with a scrutinizing glare. “Who the fuck are you?”

Ifan shot a glance at the tables, but there was nobody there. The man approached him in two quick strides and grabbed him by his collar. “Are you stealing my food, mutt?”

Ifan eyed the man’s creased face showing from under long greasy hair and nodded towards the tables. “Doesn’t look to me like you have anything to steal.” 

The man let Ifan out of his grasp with a shove and went to go through the crates tucked under the tables. “Shit!” he kicked one of the crates with his boot and then cleared his throat, visibly trying to collect himself. He turned back to Ifan. “How about that. My supplies are gone, and I find you in my kitchen. Now, how does  _ that  _ look to you?” he lifted the candle up closer to Ifan’s face, the flame almost grazing against the tip of his beard. “I don’t recognize your face. Usually, folk here know better than to come to Griff’s kitchen uninvited. Now,” he cleared his throat again, his rotten breath hot on Ifan’s face, “hand it over.”

Ifan took a step back, annoyed to be caught in the middle of something he had nothing to do with. “Feel free to take it back if you manage to find anything on me.”

Griff let out a low grunt, and Ifan felt a sharp edge of a knife on his prison garbs. “Don’t play games with me, mutt. You see,” Griff pressed the knife against Ifan’s stomach. “I use it for peeling potatoes. Folk here like my potatoes. I very much don’t want it to rust away in your guts. You seem like a nice bloke, so you wouldn’t want to leave people hungry, would you?”

Before Ifan managed a retort, the candle flame flickered from a sudden movement and a lean shadow appeared on the ground next to their own.

“It is me that you look for,” Ifan cast a sideways glance at an elf, who seemingly appeared before them out of nowhere. “It is only fair to let the innocent man go.”

Griff turned away from Ifan and faced the elf, the knife now pointing at him. “You know what to do,” Griff growled at the stranger, his raspy voice scratching at Ifan’s ears like cat’s claws. 

“I come to take food. We have none. We hunger. Children — ”

“Do I look like I care about children? Ahem,” Griff cleared his throat again. “My supplies. Now.”

“I do not have what you miss. I only want some provisions,” the elf reached into his pocket and fished out one large potato, showing it to Griff. “It is all I take from you.”

Griff’s response was a punch to the elf’s face. The elf reeled backwards, as the potato fell out of his hand, rolling under the table. Griff proceeded grabbing the elf by his hair and dragging him into the cage that Ifan had failed to notice before. The lock clicked, and Griff pocketed the key.

“You do not have to leave me here. I cannot—,” the elf’s fingers wrapped around the bars, blood dripping down his face. “Please. I intend no harm.”

Another candle lit above them on top of a wooden construction. "Griff? What in the Void is going on down there?"

"Go back to sleep, woman," Griff barked and turned to face Ifan. "Oh get out of my face already."

Ifan scowled back at him. "I'm not sure I like the way you conduct your business."

"I'm not sure if my business is any of your business," Griff replied.

"Need me to get down there?" the woman yelled from above.

"Shut up Hilde, I got it."

Ifan narrowed his eyes. "That man that you've just beaten up needs help."

"And I need my supplies, don't we have a lot in common? Now get lost."

"Friend," the elf addressed Ifan from the cage. "I know what you seek. I do not know your name, but I know that you are like all of us. I can help you but you must help me out of this cage."

Ifan came closer to him. "You know the way out of here?"

"Yes. Freedom. Yes, I can help you find it. I know how. But to escape one prison I must first leave another."

"Ey Griff, tell your friends to tone it down, I'm trying to sleep here!"

"Heard the woman? Get out of here. The elf stays," Griff warned.

Ifan started speaking before he knew what to say. "I have a proposition for you. I'll find your supplies and you let the man go."

Griff knitted his brows together, his face turning into a dark grimace. "I solve my own problems."

"So you'll have one less problem to solve," Ifan insisted. "I'm exceptionally good at tracking people. And things." 

Griff let out a deep sigh. "Happy to let this clown die in the gutter instead of my kitchen. All's I want is my supplies. A crate of citrus in particular. Bring me back my stuff and you've got yourself a deal. You'd want to hurry up because while you're out there sniffing I'm going to make him talk. How long do you think he'll last?"

Ifan looked at the poor elf, whose big green eyes were staring back at him in a silent plea.

"Consider it done."


End file.
